missing person
by gayzzoli and is lez
Summary: Aaron Hotchner is a private investigator in the 50's. He investigates a missing person case that gets him in over his head.


The phone rang. The phone rang on my desk. I picked up the black rotary phone and held the receiver to my ear. I asked "Who's this?" The voice on the other line was high pitched and talking very fast. "Calm down ma'am," I said into the phone. Finally she spoke with more clarity, and I could understand what she was saying.

"It's Penelope she's gone you need to help. Can I come over?"

"Yes certainly." I gave her my address and hung up the receiver. My office was a quiet little space decorated with pictures of the city. The carpet was an old ugly beige that needed replacing. Behind me sat two book shelves, filled with books. Through a tiny window I could see the city, people coming and going. I took out a pad and pencil. The pad had a brown leather cover. I set the pad in the bare middle of the desk. Paperwork was tidied in a neat pile at the corner.

After a few long minutes the door opened. In came a woman wearing a simple black skirt, and white top, and black coat. Her hair was done up in a messy bun. She sat in the chair opposite mine crossing her legs.

"Hi I'm Aaron Hotchner," I held out my hand. She shook it with a strong grip.

"Sarah Green."

"Green is pretty." I commented. She smiled at that. I took out a pack of cigarettes from my pocket and lit one. I offered the pack to her and she took one.

"Tell me about Penelope, when did she go missing?"

She sat back and crossed her legs over the other way. Blew smoke towards the open window. "She went missing two days ago when she didn't show up for knitting club,"

"Knitting?" I asked.

"You know where you take string and make socks and sweaters out of it. Our friends would join up at my house to knit. Oh, that's me and Joan and Lindsay and Penelope. Garcia was the best at knitting, made a sweater for my boy John and he loved it. I called her no answer, I even went over there on sunday. Can you bring her back?"

"I can find her but I can't bring her back. I only find people, and report where they are. The rest is up to the client and the missing to sort out. Now what are her other interests besides knitting?"

"She likes to read and collect little knick knacks. She's got a ton of them at her house. She works at the newspaper." I jotted all this down in my notebook. "What does she look like?"

"She dresses like a child, wears all types of crazy colors. We tried to get her to stop, everyone would stare at her. She didn't care though." I put my butt out in the glass ashtray and then shook her hand.

"Thanks for coming."

I sat there in the parking lot. I sat there waiting for the engine to kick in. When it finally did, I hung a right and burst into traffic towards Penelope's apartment. Illuminated from my head lights the snow was a heavy stream. I passed a car stuck on the side of the road, two men standing there assessing the situation.

When I finally got to Penelope's apartment building, the temperature seemed to have dropped. I popped the collar on my wool overcoat and headed into the building. The building was brick with balconies facing the street at every window. The inside was one little hallway with a front desk, stairs, and mailboxes at the far end. No one was at the front desk so I rang the bell and turned down my collar. A skinny man, young, straight out of college, probably the landlord's son, asked me what I was doing.

"Can you let me into Penelope Garcia's room, She's missing."

"Man, you the police?" I reached into the inside pocket of my jacket and pulled out my credentials.

"I'm a private investigator looking into her disappearance. Just go up and open the door." He grabbed a key off a hook, and led me up the stairs.

Her apartment was covered in knick knacks, little things on every table. Little dogs, cats and other animals, as well as other odd figures. Scattered on the walls were paintings of landscapes. I went into her bedroom which was just off the living room. Inside was a bed and a desk by the window. The desk was perfectly tidy, with files stacked on top. I riffled through the files. There were interview notes, drafts of the stories and final copies in each file. This woman was so organized. The notes in the files were so dense, every detail captured. Most of the stories were on crime organizers or mafia people, she was the one who made them famous. There was a whole file that had just names and numbers in it, one being the mayor himself. There were names of people in it without numbers and I found the stories that went with those people. One name that did not have a story file to go with it was Richard Johnson. I wrote that name down in the pad and went to search the rest of the apartment. The rest of the apartment left no clues. Just the normal stuff a single woman would have. No clothes strewn about. Nothing to indicate she left in a hurry. Next it was off to visit her workplace.


End file.
